Tokyo Ghoul: Steel Hearts
by Zwinger
Summary: A new horror lurks the streets of Tokyo. It comes with the rain and leaves ghouls in pieces, stirring terror amongst the population. No one knows what it is, or what it's out for. All that's known is that it's out for blood and only a single ghoul has the will to do something about it. (Set during Season 1)
1. File 1: Night Watch

**Prologue – Night Watch**

**Attention: Unauthorised Access in Database. Triggering Silent Alarm **

**... **

**Alarm Deactivated. Welcome, Mr [REDACTED]. Please Select a File **

_Files _

/A-C Files/

/Project Left Eye/

/Project Right Arm/

\- /List of Incidents/

-[New York Incident]

-[Hong Kong Incident]

-[New Delhi Incident]

\- = [Tokyo Incident] =

**... **

**Selection Acknowledged. Initiating Playback.**

* * *

Transmission# 8. Designation: Nil

Xxxxxxx xxxxxxxxx xx Tokyo City, Japan. Xxxxxxx - AWOL

XX: N/a

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx: N/a

Xxxxxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx: Green

2200 hrs Xxxxx 20, 20xx

* * *

Tokyo was quiet again, tonight. Few souls were wandering the streets, instead opting to stay inside and away from the night time tumultuous rain. Few cars were out too, splashing along the shallow canals that used to be roads. It also meant that the city's ghouls were going hungry.

Kei couldn't blame the people for staying in. He and his mates were doing the exact same; lazing inside, listening to the downpour while watching glazed over at recorded horse racing footage or reading an exciting, ravishing comic. The heating was on, full blast, as expected, and Kei's friends draped themselves around his apartment, either slumped on the couch or siting against the radiator. It was as if the room was populated by cats, drowsy and stuffed for the day.

It was bliss, as best as bliss could get without the struggle of life, but they were content. Kei, Haru and Len were lucky as far as ghouls got. They feasted regularly and had never been caught, or suspected, by the CCG. They lead lives as normal humans, as store clerks, office workers or couriers and drew little attention to themselves as possible. Whatever went on in the world of Ghouls didn't concern them, as mixing with that crowd proved fatal.

Haru turned a page of his manga and looked up. "Hey, when do you think Amaro is coming back? It's been almost," he looked at his watch, "50 minutes since he left for that package. Do you think he's alright?"

Len grunted and sighed as he lifted himself off the cushions, his large frame blocking some of the light coming in through the window. "He's fine, Haru, stop worrying," he rumbled, swinging his legs off the armrest. "If anything happened to him, he'd have called. Now get back to reading your thing."

"But that's the thing, he hasn't called us, and the post office is just around the corner. It usually takes 10 minutes to go and come back, not 50. What **if** something happened to him? We should help him." He threw his manga to the side and rested his arms on his knees. His eyes lit up and he froze. "Wait. What if he found someone to eat?"

Len sighed again. "Haru, for God's sake, he hasn't found anyone to eat. Have you seen what's out there? Rain, and people don't like rain. That means no one is out there." He muted the chatter coming from the TV and turned to Haru. "Look, I know how hungry you are. We all are hungry and have been for weeks. Once the rain stops, we'll go out and see if there's anyone for us. Amaro should be back by then, too. He probably just got caught up with some work friends."

"I hope you're right, Len," Haru sighed, picking his manga back up. Len returned to watching his horse racing. Kei looked back at the table he sat at and the cards that lay still on its surface. A game of poker, just like they had played in College. Kei had an ace and a queen, but he didn't dare check Amaro's cards. It would be bad manners given the state he's in. Ever since his friend had arrived at his place, Amaro had acted erratic and paranoid, with bags under his eyes like he hadn't slept for days. He made mention, by accident, that he thought something had followed him for the past week and he spent every waking and sleeping moment watching doors and windows. Kei and Len suspected he just had the jitters and tried to assure him that he was just hallucinating but Haru had taken it differently and grown concerned for him. There was little he could do, since if the stalker was a Dove, then things would turn south for the group.

It was concerning how long he'd been gone. The night was growing old and time was running short. The others would have to return to their own homes before the local curfew started and Amaru would be left unfound, if he didn't message them. Haru's concern was growing on Kei and itched at the back of his mind. He bit his lip and stood up.

"Len, Haru, get your coats. We're going out."

The two of them looked at him with mixed expressions. Puzzlement from Len and surprise from Haru. Len watched him walk to the hallway while Haru jumped up, throwing his comic to the side.

"You mean we're-" Haru began, before Kei cut him off. He swung his coat over his shoulders.

"That's right Haru, we're going Amaro fishing and we won't stop until we find him." He turned to Len and pointed to the door. "You coming?"

"Ha, in this rain? You must be crazy," he exclaimed, shaking his head. He laughed and held his head, before taking one long sigh, the last he'd ever take. "Well, if you're this concerned about him, then there's nothing to it. I'll help, but only if you pass me my coat."

"Done," Kei said, throwing the coat off the hook. They were set and ready to go. All they needed now was to find their friend.

* * *

The rain was worse than it had sounded from inside Kei's apartment, the rhythmic pitter patter replaced with regret and heavy clothing. Within seconds of stepping out from the shelter, the group was soaked to the bone and already deciding to turn back. Only Len's iron will, along with his sudden position change, prevented them from abandoning the mission. In radiance (or rather, lack of it) they strode to victory, joking and insulting each other and their mothers as they headed for the post office. It was only after more than a minute of walking through the rain and even Len was regretting going outside, cursing the other two for influencing his decisions.

"I swear, this is the last time you two will manipulate me into doing things for you," he yelled, shouting above the rain. "The last time, I swear!"

"But you said that last time, when we got you to pick that police officer up," Haru shouted back.

"That was different. That time he was harassing you, so I had to make him back down."

"Yeah, but that only made it worse for you, didn't it?" Kei interjected, nudging him. "It was only thanks to Amaro that you got off scot free. You should be more grateful."

"Ah, whatever. But this is the last time, like I said."

"You mean, like that time you helped me look for my lost phone?" Haru suggested.

"Or that time you stopped and helped an old lady get her cat out of a tree because she'd give 10,000 yen?" Kei added.

"Or how about that time where you kissed a dol-"

"Alright, I get it," Len roared, his voice supressed only by the crashing rain. "I've said it a lot, okay. Just stop bringing up all those other times, it's embarrassing me."

The two of them apologised to Len and the three laughed off the incident. They turned a corner and a man, dressed in a yellow raincoat, knocked into Haru with a force that almost sent him to his rear. Kei caught him and helped him up, while Len shouted at him and got him to stop.

"Hey, you okay, Haru?" Kei asked, checking him for any injuries.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He turned away from Kei and toward the stranger. "Hey you! Yeah, I'm talking to you! Do you think you can get away with something like that?"

He approached the man and got close to his obscured face as possible. It was difficult to see his face in this light, in fact, as his hood perfectly shrouded his face in shadow. Kei walked up to Len, who was watching Haru yell at the stranger with every insult he knew.

"What a prick, right? Who does that to someone?" He gave Len a thin smile with eager eyes, but the black man was concentrated on the man in the raincoat. His eyes were fixated on him and concern, mixed with fear, entered his aura. Kei looked to the stranger and tried picking up his scent. He couldn't find one, except for a lingering taste of Amaro's blood. He swallowed hard.

"I can't smell his scent," he whispered to Len. His friend nodded.

"Me neither. It's almost like he doesn't have flesh. And whatever happened to Amaro, he must have had a hand in it." He breathed deeply, his eyes wide with horror and confusion. The stranger looked nothing like an investigator, had no evidence of a kugane with him. Kei felt his bones begin to shake not from the cold, but from fear. Len nudged him. "Is… Is he wearing heels?"

Then, from the long sleeve of the raincoat, a large, round object fell out, splashing onto the pavement. Haru stopped his insulting and looked at the object, as did Len and Kei. On the floor, was Amaro's head, severed from his body and frozen in an expression of fear. Haru was too slow to react and failed to evade the swinging blade from the other sleeve as it lopped his head off. His head fell to meet the same fate as Amaro's.

"Kei, run," Len yelled, revealing his ape armed Kugane. "Go, I'll hold him off!"

Kei dashed in the opposite direction, just as his friend said and splashed down the street. He wasn't fast enough to escape the sound of a blade slicing through the air and heavy, meaty objects making loud splashes accompanied by cries of pain. He ran and focussed on where he ran to, seeking to get away from the murderous stranger. He tripped, stumbled and fell face first onto the ground. He picked himself up, unsure if rainwater or tears were in his eyes. He hoped he had lost that man.

He hadn't. Standing behind him, sword and severed, black arm in hand, was the stranger-, no monster that had killed his friends. He knelt, baffled at the fact his friends had fallen so quickly. They were ghouls! All of them were ghouls, they were supposed to be unkillable by normal means. They were meant to prey on humans, not the other way around. That sword the stranger had shouldn't even be able to harm them. And yet it did. Kei didn't bother speculating if it was a new type of weapon, he just scrambled backwards.

The stranger laughed a metallic, electronic rasp that echoed through the street, cutting above the rain. He strode closer, heels clanking with a metallic ring, stepping with a cat-like precision. He threw the arm on the ground and spoke.

"_Here kid, I have a proposition for you: I'll give you 3 seconds to run, and if you can escape me, I'll let you go. Deal?" _he asked, in perfect Japanese but with an underlying foreign accent. Kei couldn't discern where it was, nor did he care. He had an opportunity to escape, so why waste it? He jumped up and ran away, dashing down the next alley he found.

He didn't stop until he was deep into the passage, gasping for air. He wondered what the hell was going on and why that thing was after him. He'd done nothing to get on the radar, so why was this happening? At least he was safe.

A clang sounded down the alley and caught his attention. He raised his head in the sound's direction and found a straight, single-edged sword thrust into the concrete, sparking with electrical energy. The ruffling of clothes and feet meeting the floor sounded behind, freezing him stiff. He had lost.

"_That was fun, kid, really fun," _said the thing, "_but not fun enough. I was expecting a better welcome party for coming here."_

Without listening to what the thing had to say, Kei dashed down alley further, faster than he hoped that thing could run. He heard the sound of steel feet hit the ground behind him, the whirring of motors through the air. A fence rapidly approached him, but he leapt over it in a single bound. He looked back through the fence, hoping he'd escaped. He hadn't.

The thing jumped over the fence higher than Kei had, landing in a spot that trapped the ghoul. He rose from his crouch, swinging his sword to the ready. Kei swallowed hard.

"I'll kill you!" He jumped forward, revealing his Kugane, a spear like tendril covered in barbs. He swung a fist at the thing, missed, thrust with his kugane before round house kicking the thing in its side, throwing it into a wall and cracking the bricks.

As expected, the thing got up unscathed, brushing pebbles off its raincoat. However, its hood had fallen back, revealing an onyx visor stretching from the widow's peak to jaw, topped off by long, swept up hair. Kei blinked in surprise at the sudden sight.

Without speaking, the thing's blade flashed, swinging up and lopping off Kei's Kugane. He didn't notice at first, not until he spotted his limb lying on the floor and seeping blood into the water. Then the pain struck and sent him reeling grasping at the severed end. The thing's blade flashed again, chopping off an arm and forcing Kei to his knees. He looked up at the black visor as it approached, grimacing desperately.

"_I would say don't take it personally, kid, but in reality, this was always personal," _it said, a sneer present in its voice._ "Your kind has done enough to deserve retribution like this, even if it isn't authorised."_

Through the pain, Kei spat on the thing's foot. "Fuck you!" he said defiantly. The thing wiggled its foot and lifted its chin.

"_At least that part of you is human," _it said, before severing Kei's head off with a single hand. His body fell to the floor, unable to operate anymore as the thing sheathed its sword.

The night would prove to be silent, as usual, until the morning, as when the bodies were found, fear would be struck across both the human and ghoul communities and mystery would be rife through the country.


	2. File 2: Wolf in the Sheep's Den

File 2: Wolf in the Sheep's Den

XxxxxxxxxxxxX XX Xxxxxxxxxxx: Shepherding Eye  
Investigation xx Xxxxxxxxxxxx Xxxxx Xxxxxx 19th Ward  
Xxxxxxxxx Xxxxx Xxxxxxx Xxxx 20th Ward  
Xxxxxxxxxxxxx XX-7  
Xxxxxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx Green

1200 hrs. Xxxxx 21, 20xx

...

It was raining again. A torrential shower assaulted the sidewalks and buildings of the city, pummelling the residents and their cars. The rain filled the empty canals that were the roads, overflowing drains bubbling with inability to pass enough water. Few people walked the streets, preferring not to drench their clothing with the downpour.

It was mesmerising, watching the shower, listening to the heavy pattering against the roof, the glass, and the smell of freshly soaked coats entering the shop. Despite the lack of people on the road, Antique was filled to capacity with customers, stretching the staff thin. The atmosphere inside the coffee shop was much like the outside: loud, chaotic and full of people rushing to and from points. Such artistic parallels would enthral any man.

"Oi, Kaneki, get back to work."

It was soothing, listening to the pattering of droplets. A constant barrage of muted _thumps, _crashing of droplets against the pavement and the occasional thundering roar was enough to send one into a trance, like being put under a spell resting in the bosom of a fair maiden.

"Kaneki, wake up."

The sight outdoors was pleasing to watch, too. Hundreds of tiny pods, flying towards the ground with little care, before striking the ankle high lakes. The flowing of the streams reflected the light in just a way that it sucked your consciousness out of your body and into the black hole of attention. It would be enough to just stand and-

A sharp whistle snapped Kaneki out of his trance. He looked around, readjusting to his surroundings. The coffee shop, Antique. He was still here. He must have zoned out when looking through the window. He looked over his shoulder and saw Touka behind the counter, glaring at him, her eyes digging into his skin. He turned to her, nervously.

"Um, y-yeah?"

"There's still a table that needs cleaning, so maybe you should stop sleeping and get to it?" she asked, hissing through her teeth. Kaneki felt his breathing stop as he turned to the table she was pointing at. Cups and saucers were still on it, not yet collecting mould. The shop was empty now, as opposed to earlier. Strange how a room can suddenly become lifeless in a matter of seconds, or minutes. He trudged to the table.

"I'll do it," he said dejectedly. As he approached, he heard Touka whispering to herself and Enji humming.

"Honestly, what's his problem?" she hissed. Enji clicked his tongue and sighed.

"Is there a reason for this attitude?" he asked enigmatically. Kaneki heard a sound come from Touka, as well as the phantom remnants of words, but he couldn't make out anything of substance.

"Hmm, is that still a reason to act so hostile?"

"Oh, shut up," said the waitress, shutting down the conversation. Enji seemed to accept the sudden conclusion and began a cheery whistle to lighten the mood. Kaneki noticed there was still a customer in the shop, listening to the radio the manager had set up on the counter. He thought it best to leave them alone, with their notebook and pen. They'd soon leave and have their yellow raincoat drenched again.

Kaneki gathered the cups and returned them to the counter. Enji wasn't present when he placed the tray down. Instead, he and Touka were by the radio, listening to what seemed to be a gripping news report.

"Hey, what's going on?" He moved along the counter, closer to the device. Touka waved a hand at him to shut him up, while Enji put a finger to his lips, before returning their attention back to the radio. Kaneki decided to listen in too. A woman was speaking.

"Thank you, Hideyoshi. Just earlier this morning, several, mutilated bodies belonging to ghouls were found along main street in the 19th Ward, scattered some distances from each. The bodies, which exhibited wounds such as severed limbs, stab wounds and heavy blunt trauma and broken bones were found primarily along the street pavement, but two were found in alleys. One, who's head was decapitated, was discovered in a bin by a convenience store, while his head was among the pile of ghouls out in the street. It is thought by police and the CCG that rival groups had become violent with each other and fought each other over hunting grounds, but recent reports suggest that the bodies found are of a group of friends, that will remain unnamed as of this time. It makes it unlikely that it was the work of Ghouls. Additionally, several eyewitnesses say they saw a man in a yellow raincoat walking away from the scene of the crime, with blood splatters on his outfit. Residents are advised to stay indoors and travel in groups at night, as officials are unsure if humans are in danger too. More on this at 1 o'clock.  
"In other news; the US has finally decided on its plan to help defend Japan against a possible Chinese/Japanese conflict, and have deployed an Aircraft Carrier strike group to the Pacific Ocean, as well as a detachment of Marines and Delta 6 special forces. The White House has released a statement regarding China's aggression, saying they will not tolerate any advancements made to their allies. Additionally, President Armstrong is expected to make an appearance later today…-"

The three of them froze, staring at the radio. No one said a word or made a move, processing what was heard. The report was stunning and shook them to their bones. In all of Kaneki's few months being a Ghoul, he hadn't heard anything like this happening, nor had anyone told him this. Kaneki peered around the corner at the remaining customer, cautiously measuring him. The scent of a human, but not a ghoul, radiated from him, putting most of his worries to rest. Eventually, Touka broke the silence.

"Could it be Doves?" she asked quietly. Enji shook his head.

"If it was, then it would have been reported as such, instead of a murder mystery." He picked up the tray and headed for the back. "If it's anything to worry about, the Manager will talk about it. Just be careful." He left the room. Kaneki and Touka exchanged glances, wary and uncertain. The shuffling of a chair moving out grabbed their attention as the final customer got ready to leave. Kaneki walked over at Touka's behest and placed the cup and saucer on his tray, earning a smile and thanks from the aged man.

"Terrible business, that is," he said unexpectedly. "Shame that it happened at all."

Kaneki was caught off guard and struggled for words. "Uh, what is?"

"That ghoul business, of course," he clarified, indicating to the radio behind the wooden frame. "Even if they eat humans, it's still unfortunate they were killed. I doubt they can help their hunger for things like me."

"Uh, yeah." He nodded in agreement.

The man sighed. "I can't wait for the future, when we can synthesize food and distribute it to the poor sods." He lifted up a book from the table, one with a foreign looking cover. "If more people read this, then we'd have food synthesizers by now just from sheer demand. It's one of the main ways people get food in this world."

"I see," said the Ghoul, his eye wide. He looked at the title. "'Black Knowledge'? What's it about?"

The man smiled widely. "Ah, it's a good book, this one. Written by a man in England, called Ashe. Very good science-fiction author. It's about a man who dies in a war against a race of crab people only to be resurrected hundreds…or was it thousands? Anyway, that amount of years later just to seek revenge against the spirit that killed him, Abortion Clinic. On the way, he wrongs a mob boss who also happens to like centipedes a bit too much and has to make up with the mind reading crab king just so he can do his job. Got that?"

Kaneki felt like he'd missed something in that summary and could do nothing but laugh nervously. "I think so. Man, foreign stories sure are weird, aren't they? You won't get anything like that here in Japan."

"Well, yes, but it's only weird because I explained it weirdly. I'm sure that when you read it, it'll fit your tastes perfectly. You've read Ashe before, right?" He pulled on his coat and the Ghoul searched his memories for any books written by an 'Ashe' but nothing came up. He shook his head.

"I can't say I have, no. Although, I am interested, now that you've mentioned him."

"Excellent! That's brilliant news. Unfortunately, they're hard to find in bookstores in Japan, but-" the man stopped speaking and put on a serious expression, his brow creasing in thought. He looked at his Kaneki, then at his book. He spoke quickly. "Tell you what; rather than encouraging you to buy a book you might not enjoy, why don't you take mine and you can give it back to me when you're done? I won't miss it; I've read it hundreds of times anyway." He passed the book over to Kaneki, but the boy's cheeks flushed, and he pushed the book away.

"N-no, please, that's too kind of you. I'm afraid I can't accept that kind of charity-"

"Oh, poppycock, don't you know how rare it is for a stranger to give away a book for free? That happens practically," he looked at his watch, "never! After all, you look like a lad who's well into the reading arts, maybe you've read a spot of Dostoyevsky or Peterson here and there. Besides, this is a good read. Here, take it."

Hesitant, Kaneki reached out and took the book from the man. It was worn and old, with the corners folding on themselves, but the art on the front was still in a perfect, reflective condition. The cover seemed to depict an abstractly shaped ship hovering before a desolate planetoid in an asteroid belt. The art on the cover lent the book an ominous aura, but drew Kaneki in, nonetheless.

"Thank you, sir, I'll be sure to read it when I get the chance. I appreciate it, Mr…uh?"

"Oh, Wallace. I'm here on business, so I won't be leaving anytime soon. Here, let me write you my number."

He scribbled down a series of numbers, which Kaneki supposed was his mobile number, in his notebook, before tearing it out. He handed it over.

"If I leave before you finish it, you can call this number and get my address. I'll make sure to pay back any shipping fees. Ta-ta, now."

Kaneki inspect the paper. A name was written on it, below the number in the centre. _Wax, _it read in katakana and what he suspected was English. He wanted to clarify what the significance of the name was, but Mr. Wallace was already leaving the shop, shutting the door with a gentle ring. Kaneki was saddened by the fact the conversation was cut so short, but he was smiling from had transpired. He looked at the book in his hand. He was excited to read it.

"Kaneki, what's taking so long?" Touka barked from around the corner. Kaneki jumped out of his skin and hurried round, concealing his new book.

"Nothing, ma'am!"

…

The store had gained a considerable number of customers over the next 30 minutes, but not as much as had been earlier in the day. The influx was manageable, and the staff hardly struggled with the new workload, breezing through the orders like kuganes through flesh. The rain had also lightened up too, allowing more people to roam the streets. But within seconds, the toreential downpour the staff hoped wouldn't return did just that, and Tokyo became the city of canals once again.

The Manager had emerged from the backroom, as well as the others on this shift, Enji and Nishiki, to help the two. The shop was in a lively atmosphere once again.

Kaneki was busy brushing the floor in front of the entrance when he heard the bell ring. He turned to greet the customer, pulling a wide smile.

"Welcome to Antique. How can we help you?" he said cheerily.

A man dressed very formally in a black and white suit was standing in the entrance, his hands clad in black leather gloves. Circular rimmed sunglasses sat on his nose and obscured his eyes. He was broad, tall and well built and it seemed his muscles would burst out from under his white button shirt. And yet, he wasn't wearing a coat, but despite the downpour outside, he was perfectly dry, albeit for a few droplets falling off his hair. Kaneki looked to his hand and noticed he was holding a case, a very long case. His mouth went dry. Kaneki froze.

"Oh, don't worry about this. It's just a hockey stick," said the man, speaking in perfect Japanese but with an underlying American accent. Kaneki looked up at him and saw him smiling warmly. He must have seen him looking at his case and knew he'd be wondering who he was. "Many people mistake me for one of those Inquisitors, even back in the States. I only want to play hockey."

"Ah, I see," he said nervously, rubbing the back of his head. Now that he looked at the man, it was quite apparent that he wasn't Japanese. He was taller, muscular and had more pronounced facial features than the average Japanese man, such as his roman nose or chiselled jawline. Despite being a ghoul, Kaneki felt intimidated by him. He held a hand out to the stools at the counter.

"Please, have a seat," he suggested, supressing his fear. The man nodded at him as he walked by.

"Thank you. I only just arrived yesterday, so this is a better welcome than I got then." He took a seat and rested his case against the counter. The Manager greeted him and asked the man for his order. Kaneki listened close, even though he still had brushing to do.

"Well, thanks for asking," began the man, before clearing out his throat. "I would like the best coffee you have, stirred, not shaken. Stir it clockwise for six seconds, stir it anti-clockwise for 17 seconds and then add four grams of sugar to the mix." He went quiet for a moment, before continuing. "And add a few drops of your finest whiskey, would you? I'll pay extra."

"I'm sorry, sir, but we don't store whiskey in this shop," the Manager said, stoic as ever. The customer continued.

"Shh, shhhh, not so loud, will you? Alright, look, here's 2,000 Yen. Now, will you put it in?"

The Manager groaned. "Sir, I was telling the truth when I said we don't store whiskey. I'm afraid you'll have to do without." This time the customer groaned.

"Fine, just put some milk in, instead. It won't make a difference." He sighed and dropped his arms onto the counter. The Manager moved to get the ingredients for the coffee. Kaneki was just about finished and taking the dustpan to the bin when the man removed his glasses, the spokes clattering as they fell on each other. Sharp, piercing brown eyes looked back at Kaneki, measuring the boy up. An oriental hint was evident in the man's gaze, but it was likely generations old, stretching to the Meiji period at the oldest.

"Say, how did you get that eyepatch?" he asked curiously. "A cat scratch it out?"

Kaneki faltered and stammered the first words that came to mind, creating a sentence that was almost coherent for a brain damaged pug. He breathed heavily.

"He suffers from a rare ocular condition that makes it dangerous for his eye to be out in light for long periods," said the Manager, surprising Kaneki. "If it's in the sun for too long his blood vessels will inflame and his eye will become too big for his socket."

"Really? I never would have guessed." He leaned back and crossed his arms in sweetly smooth motions. "I have to say getting your eye scratched out is bad, but that is…how do you say it?"

"Worse?" suggested the Manager.

"No, I was trying to say _'shitty' _but this damn language doesn't allow for that kind of expression," he said, mixing English and Japanese. Kaneki looked at him curiously, wondering what he said, whereas the Manager just smiled and chuckled. The man joined him in the humour.

"It's been a long time since I've met an American like yourself. It's been almost 15 years since I've heard that kind of language." He finished preparing the cup and brought it over to the man, placing it delicately on the counter. "You seem like a decent fellow. Here, I'm Yoshimura, the owner of this establishment. This is Mr Kaneki, and over there is Miss Kirishima, Mr Koma and Mr Nishio, our most recent addition to the staff. If you need anything, just call them over." He gestured to his staff, one by one, with a smile on his face. Kaneki felt uneasy being targeted like this but endured it. The man looked over his shoulder to spot the members he was talking about.

"I see. You have a lively crowd working here." He turned back around and spoke to them both. "I'm Mag, by the way."

Kaneki cocked his head. "Mag? What does that mean?"

"It stands for Matthew Gunther. It's what my squad mates called me back in the Marines." He took a sip out of his coffee and exhaled with pleasure. "Some of those coffee shop boys in the chair force decided it would funny to callsign me as 'Magpie' since I liked to collect bullet shells." His eyes widened as he hastily said, "Oh, no offense."

"None taken, as I wouldn't know what to be offended about," the Manager said, with a curious gleam in his eye. This Mag was a strange one and full of energy, and so much friendlier too. He was much different from the usual customers. But there was something else that was different about him; he lacked a scent of any kind, or at least one that Kaneki could identify. Still, he didn't worry about it. The Manager didn't show any signs of worry, so the issue could be forgotten.

Mag took another sip from his coffee, moving with a practised mechanical precision. He raised the glass, tipped a sliver into his mouth and put it back down, all in one motion. Kaneki was impressed and drawn in by the movements. He put the brush down and moved closer.

"So, you were in the military, right?" he asked politely. Mag slapped the table and spoke without looking at him.

"No, I was in the ice cream force," he said sarcastically, confusing Kaneki. He turned to the half-ghoul, sighing. "Yes, I was in the military, but not anymore. I was with the Marines for almost seven years."

"Really?" His eyes widened as he approached. "What made you want to leave? Was it too much?"

The Manager put a hand on his shoulder. "Kaneki," he began with a grave tone. Before he could continue, Mag cut him off.

"No, no, it's fine. I rarely get to talk about this in the first place." He cleared his throat and cradled his hands on the counter. "Well, the reason I left wasn't because it got too much for me. The Marines may be a military branch that looks unappealing to a lot of the public, but really, it's not so bad. Us Jarheads are built to withstand and do anything. We're not like this country's prissy new Marine division; we've been around for hundreds of years. We do anything we're told, even if it means taking down the walls of a bunker just with our teeth.  
"Sure, we may be starved during basic, be treated like punching bags by the Instructors and get smoked because someone left their toothbrush in the wrong cup, but it had its benefits."

"Like?" Kaneki asked.

Mag opened his mouth to speak but closed it as a serious expression stretched across his face. He put a hand to his chin and began a humming as he thought for things to say. He stayed like that for a while, until he shook his head.

"I don't know, but mark my words, there are benefits. I think."

Kaneki laughed. "Well, I'll take your word for it, Mr Mag. But, um, why did you leave?"

Mag's eyes lit up at the question, but his mouth grew sour. "Ah, well, you see, it has to do with a particular operation I was a part of. It was back in '07, you see, and for years before that me and my company were deployed all over the Middle East and Asia, suppressing insurgents and commies and the like. God's work. It was bloody business, I won't skirt around that, but it was needed to keep the region under control. Over there, us guys in the company got the nickname 'Devil Frogs', because we were brutally efficient in our water ops. Anyway, fast forward to 2007 and we're shipped back to the good ol' US of A, to deal with trouble in New York. Turns out Ghouls were eating more people than usual, and people were dropping dead with flesh hanging from their faces, despite never being touched by a Ghoul." He took a long sip from his coffee. "It was Chronic Wasting Disease, an epidemic that we thought would only affect deer populations, that was behind it. But, the disease had moved to rats and affected a small portion of humans. Mostly, it just decays your flesh, but for the unlucky folk it really turns you into a real-life zombie. Luckily, the red zone was quarantined and no one else was infected." He bit his lip. "That is, if some dipshit ghouls didn't think it was a good idea to go hunting inside that red zone and spread it to the rest of the city.  
"By the time we made landfall a whole two months later, the situation had gone FUBAR long before we got there. It was totally locked down. The Guard couldn't do shit, Air Force was bogged down with choosing which coffee to bring along and the Navy- Well, it's the Navy. What can they do out of water? The only ones who were doing anything were some PMC's stationed at key points and Delta 6 proving their mettle, shooting down the rabid ghouls and insane civvies. Hell, the only thing we could do when we got there was clean out the streets of stragglers and shoot anyone we didn't know on sight. Lemme tell you, it was a mess out there. You don't know true fear until you have a pack of rabid ghouls rushing your squad, ready to tear your arm out of your socket and eat your guts. It took a lot of work during the cleanup too. Had to get rid of the ghouls' food source so they would starve. And that meant a lot of black bags lined the streets, those days."

Mag put his cup to his lips and drained the contents. His expression became sullen.

"I won't forget what happened out there, the things I saw and heard. Lost a few too many good friends out there and I barely escaped myself. I had family in that city; parents, uncles and aunts, siblings. Half of them were gone before the red zones spread to their areas, eaten by uninfected ghouls in freak flash raids on their buildings." He grimaced and gripped the bridge of his nose. He sighed. "I always was lenient to ghouls and their actions until then, giving them a pass every now and again. I guess you really don't what it's like until it happens to one of your own.  
"Anyway, it was then that I decided I'd seen enough and left. Other people can be left to do the dirty work."

Kaneki lowered his gaze and he spotted the Manager's expression darken too. This kind of prejudice wasn't uncommon, but he couldn't do anything but feel sorry for the man.

"I'm, sorry, for what happened Mag. I didn't know."

"Well, don't be," he said sternly, making Kaneki jump out of his skin. "It's hard enough worrying about yourself, so do you really have time to worry about strangers?"

"I- Well, I…"

"Look, don't worry about it. I'm over it, it happened years ago. I'd rather forget about the things that went down there."

A cough came from the Manager and he leaned on the counter. "I understand how it would feel to lose someone, Mr Mag, but I heard that it was riots that consumed New York at that date. How would you explain that?"

"Cover ups," he put bluntly. "Feds were too scared what might happen across the world if people found out what really happened. If they knew ghouls were a reason it spread like it did, not even mentioning what the sane ones did, witch hunts would be happening since that day and anyone suspected of being a ghoul would be tied by the legs and slung over a tree branch. Frankly, I shouldn't be telling you this, but I was always notorious for never keeping a secret." He winked at them with a sly grin.

The Manager smiled back. "I see. Then, what do you do now, then, Mag?"

"Well, it's simple; I test technology for several large companies. Things like weapons, computers, vehicle doodads, all that sort. I then send any feedback and improvements over to Samsong or whoever it is that sent the weapons and compile a list for the International Committee for Humanitarian Preservation. For security reasons, of course."

"Hmm? So, you've come for a company based here, then?" asked the Manager. His eyes narrowed even more and his lip became thin. "Let me guess; Spirit Wolf?"

Mag snapped his fingers, oddly through his glove. "Bingo. See, their eggheads need some third party to test out a new experimental weapon's software for a new drone model, so I might as well put my programming degree to use."

Mag's back straightened suddenly, and he patted his pocket. A quiet vibration was audible over the gentle din of the store, which was revealed to be from his phone. He pulled it from his pocket. He took one look at the screen before pocketing it again. He rose to his feet and retrieved his case.

"Excuse me, but I have to leave now. My supervisor is calling me and he's hell to deal with when he's angry."

"I understand," the Manager said, watching as Mag dropped several coins onto the counter. The man flicked out his glasses and slid them on, walking backwards to the door.

"I'll be here tomorrow, to drink more of your coffee, probably. Maybe." He opened the door, before adding, "Well, we'll see."

He threw himself at the exit, almost bumping into the next customer coming through the entrance. "Whoops, sorry, sweetheart, but I've got places to be. I haven't got time for you," he said, before dashing out into the rain again. Kaneki and the Manager watched as a woman entered, tall and slim and dressed fashionably for wet weather, with short, punkish and feathery hair sprouting from her head.

She looked around the room, eyeing each individual carefully before she landed her gaze on Kaneki, before switching to the Manager.

"Yoshimura," she said, with a coy smile. "It's been a while."

"Indeed, Miss Tori." He smiled back.


	3. File 3: Raven in the Owl's Nest

File 3: A Raven in the Owl's Nest

12:49 am.

It was quiet in the backroom, deathly quiet. It was so unbearably silent that Tori felt like the room would collapse from a pin drop. She slumped in a chair, bored out of her mind while she waited for Yoshimura to return. It was excruciating during the wait and the fact she'd been waiting ten minutes instead of an hour really showed her impatience. She hated waiting.

Reaching into one of her coat pockets, Tori pulled out a butterfly knife and began flicking and spinning it around her fingers, rhythmically clicking and clacking the handles against the blade. She threw the knife into the air, letting it fly before catching it in her hand. Tori felt the sharp edge of the blade digging into her, failing to break the skin. She sighed as she spun the blade and bite handle around her thumb and closed the blade. Arial tricks were the bane of her existence, more so than Investigators or those Aogiri Tree fools barking at her door, as she always caught the blade instead of the handles. It made for a neat trick in front of children, but in front of anyone older and she'd be in trouble. And just when the hell was that damn manager going to come back?!

The door opened just as Tori was about to go searching for Yoshimura, relieving her greatly. But instead of the manager, a girl she faintly recognized came in, holding a cup and saucer, with wisps of vapour rising from the top. Tori leaned forward and grinned, brushing a bunch of red hair out of her eyes.

"Well, well, it's that little rabbit I've heard so much about. Come to keep me company?" she said, alluringly. The girl ignored her and gently put the saucer down on the coffee table, careful not to spill. The rich aroma of coffee had hit Tori as soon as the girl had come in, but now it was even stronger. She took a sip and melted in her seat. The tension in her muscles practically dissolved out of her. She turned back to the girl and asked a question.

"So, are you doing well?" she asked, discovering her company had left the room as soon as she'd arrived. Tori frowned and took another sip from her cup. It wasn't apparent that the Rabbit didn't want to talk, but Tori had felt there was a chance of communicating with her. After all, most ghouls often mistook her rough appearance for her character underneath, but the ones that stayed found out about her golden personality. Or at least, a personality as golden as much as dinosaur shit can be worth millions of billions on Yen.

She leaned back in her chair, bringing her cup with her. "You could have at least let me ask you if you had a boyfriend, yet," she exhaled. She found that those types were the most fun to get a rise out of, after prodding and pushing their buttons. But unlike others, they were harder to goad into reacting, but the reward for pissing them off was too great to pass up.

Tori sat in silence once more, sipping her coffee. Every now and again, she'd detect spikes in volume from the shop, stray words and laughs reaching her ears. The rest of the building stayed quiet, except for the chatter of a woman and what sounded like a little girl in the upper rooms. Tori wondered what the story behind that was, and who those individuals may be, but put the thought to rest. She could hear Yoshimura approaching, with his carefully placed, timed footsteps.

The door opened once more and the manager of the shop walked in, followed by a stoic, white haired man with the features of a wolf, who she hadn't heard coming. It had been a year since Tori had last visited the shop and many of the names had fallen into obscurity with her.

"Yoshimura," she called, raising a hand, "I was scared you forgot about me."

"Oh, it would take more than that," he said, smiling as he took as seat opposite the woman. His white-haired friend waited by the door, watching Tori closely. She ignored him.

"So, Tori, what have you been up to?" asked the manager, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, the usual. Painting pictures, interior decorating and eating ." She turned to the manager and grinned. "You know, the usual."

"I see. Well, if you say so." Tori noticed he didn't seem convinced. She bit her lip. "So, what have you really been doing?"

Tori sighed. "Nothing. I've just been keeping tabs on my old crew and living quietly. Is that so hard to believe?"

"It is," he replied succinctly. He leaned forward. "The last time you were here, you were on the run from a pair of Doves out for your skin. The time before that, you were in trouble with a rival gang who you cheated out of food. And before that…Well, I believe I've made my case."

"Right, and if I ask you to help me again, you'll just kick me out?" She took a sip from her coffee and swallowed it too quickly. She choked on the residue.

"I would. Every time you sought us out, you almost jeopardized this operation, one way or another. Whether it's because of your ineptitude or arrogance, you always did something to make things worse for yourself. I won't have it happen again."

"Oh, come on, Yoshimura, that was all years ago," cried Tori, recovered from her battle with the coffee. "I've changed since then, my gang has split-up and I'm off the record. My Ravens aren't something you need to worry about anymore, so what are you even scared of?"

The manager leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, keeping his gaze firm and steady. "You. I'm scared you're up to something. You always stay in the 19th ward, but trouble always accompanies you when you go elsewhere."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I can help being a magnet for those damn suits." She sighed and hung her head. "Look, can you just hear me out?"

Yoshimura went quiet as he stared at Tori, rising the tension in the room with his unbreaking stare. Tori felt the seconds go by agonizingly slowly as the silence only grew. She looked over to the man by the door and tried to remember his name. Perhaps she could use some distant memory of him helping her to win over Yoshimura.

"Very well," he said, surprising the woman. "I will hear you out, but if I decide you're not worth helping, then I won't help you. Yomo over there will escort you out of the building when we're done." He threw his head in the direction of his accomplice, who closed his eyes when Tori looked at him.

Tori sighed and wiped a bead of sweat off her brow. She grinned. "Look, I didn't come here expecting to get help, but it would be useful." She took another sip. "I came here to tell you something, about what happened last night."

Yoshimura's eyes snapped up from the table and he leaned forwards by a miniscule fraction. It was obvious she had his attention now. He must have heard on the news the recent 'cleansing' that happened. He must have. Tori smiled thinly as she clasped her hands, but the smile soon turned to a frown.

"Those ghouls that died yesterday, they were friends of mine. Two of them were even ex-Ravens. All of them, chopped to little pieces. I'm guessing you didn't know that?"

He shook his head. "I did not. The news was very tight lipped about it when it was on, so I couldn't work out if it was someone I knew."

"Well, now you know." Tori sat back and crossed her legs. "And the worst part is, nobody knows who killed them. Those CCG bastards denied it, although I can't help but feel they had a part in it, and there's no way they were the targets of a hit, since them being dead means almost nothing now."

Yoshimura stroked his chin as he mulled on the matter. He had been listening closely to Tori and probably had the same questions she did. She knew he wanted her to continue, and so she did.

"Anyway, that's the mystery we have. At this moment, it seems more likely they were just mugged, even though that doesn't explain their missing limbs and deep cuts. But obviously no kugane can make the molecule perfect cuts they've been leaking on 2chan, so it's a dead end." She tapped the table, rattling her nails on the wood. "But there's just one more thing. Word on the street has it that there's a new kind of operator out for us, with a new kind of quinque. Now, there isn't much to go off of, but that man in the yellow raincoat is supposed to be a sort of 'Dove' that doesn't work for the CCG. Or so the current theories say."

"That may be, but only the CCG has the jurisdiction to hunt us. Any other organisation must seek permission from the government to be allowed the freedoms for anti-ghoul operations. Who could it be?"

Tori cleared her throat. "Well, you know at how Mercy has recently installed a headquarters in Tokyo-"

"Don't tell me you believe in conspiracy theories like that, Tori?" The Manager cut her off. Tori ground her teeth and pulled herself forwards.

"Well, why else do you think they're here? What other reason do they have other than to try out a new toy against us? Huh, Yoshimura?"

"Tori think about this logically," sighed the Manager, rubbing his forehead. "Yes, they may be the largest producer of Q metal and they may develop new weapons from time to time, but those are strictly business decisions. They're still a technology and medical company first, they wouldn't have a reason to antagonize us. Besides, those weapon they design are mostly for NATO uses in conflict, they wouldn't even reach us."

"Well, what about when they showed off that fancy micro-edge blade they invented," she mumbled under her breath. Unfortunately, the old ghoul had heard what she'd said and made her cheek go red when he spoke.

"That's hardly anything to do with ghouls, Tori. That's a medical device, for very, very delicate surgery. Now please, stop thinking so irrationally."

"Whatever," she spat, waving a hand. "It still doesn't explain why they of all people would set up shop here, especially in an old CCG building. What business do they have here in Japan? I thought their main market was in Europe and America, not here?"

"They're branching out, Aoki, that's why," he said tersely. "And like I said, stop thinking so irrationally. This conversation is over." He cradled his hands and looked up softly at her. "So, what will you do now?"

"I don't know," she blurted, "find whoever did this and kill them?"

"I can't say I'd recommend that."

"Well, don't then. I'll do it, even if you tell me otherwise."

"I understand. How will you do it?"

"Easy. I'll get my mates back together and we'll hunt the bastard down. I'll scour every corner of this city if I have to."

Tori looked across at Yoshimura and saw him smiling. She pulled a puzzled expression at him and cocked her head. He noticed the expression and spoke.

"It's fun seeing you get riled up, once more, just like how it was before. You came yelping at how a dog bit you in public and revealed to everyone there you were a ghoul and it took both Enji and (forgot naem) to convince you that no one was coming after you." His eyes became distant and glazed over, his mind delving into the past with a certain fondness. His smile grew wider. "It wasn't as bad as I remember actually. You tried convincing Yomo to help you go out and hunt for any investigators in the area, but he kept trying to get to just stay indoors." He sighed and raised his brow. "It was quite fun while you worked a few shifts here. Perhaps you should reconsider your choices and join us again?"

"Yeah, well, perhaps you should reconsider your offer, because times change, Yoshimura." She rose to her feet and drained the last of her now cold coffee. "I take it you're not going to help me in any way?"

"Hmm, I'll try. I'll pass on anything I hear that may interest you."

"Right," she breathed. She turned to the door. "Thanks for humouring me, Yoshimura. I didn't think you had it in you to give me another chance."

He laughed. "Funny. But I think you'd better leave before I kick you out."

"Yeah, yeah," she drawled, as the Wolf opened the door for her. She thanked him on the way out, making her way back to the coffee shop and out into the rain once more. She looked back and saw a boy with an eyepatch looking at her through the window, before quickly averting his gaze. She smiled genuinely this time, as she turned into the empty street beyond.

…

Kaneki watched the rough looking woman walk away as the rain pelted her again. It was odd while she was in the building. Touka and Enji, and even some of the other ghouls, were alert for the duration of the visit and yet they continued professionally, seemingly on edge like they were living with a tiger. Of course, Kaneki didn't know what the deal was. The lady looked rough and like she might be worrisome to be around, but he knew not to judge a book by its cover. She might be a heart-warming, supportive person rather than the disorganized criminal her outfit suggested. But she was still intimidating.

However, he was still curious as to her notoriety among the staff and he needed to know why. At the next chance that was available, he put forward a question to Mr Koma.

"Oh, her? Hmm, you don't really need to know about her, Kaneki. She's an old acquaintance of ours, that's all," he said in his usual, friendly tone, but a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. Kaneki's curiosity only grew with that, and with the next opportunity he saw, he approached Touka and posed her the question.

"Huh? You want to know who she was?" Her expression turned sour faster than a dog finding out it was on course for the vet. She glanced around her and drew closer. "I don't know much about her, but I heard she's caused trouble for the Manager and the others. A lot of trouble. Don't get mixed up with her."

She turned on her heel, and headed to one of the tables, leaving Kaneki disappointed with his answers. Still intrigued, the half-ghoul waited until the shop was empty and the day was done, before approaching the Manager.

"Excuse me, Manager, but who was that woman you spoke to earlier?" he asked innocently. The Manager turned to give him a sly look, as he laid his hands on the counter.

"Her? She's an old acquaintance that we worked with on occasion." He breathed in and puffed his chest. "She operated in the 19th ward and led a gang of Ghouls called the Tokyo Ravens. It was a childish play, but they were formidable." He chuckled and had a longing expression stretched on his face. "But unfortunately, they weren't the brightest bunch. They were too young to really plan things out properly. They frequently got into more trouble than they'd intend."

"Ah, I see," Kaneki observed, his eyes gleaming with fascination. He watched as the Manager put a pile of saucers away. "So, why did she come here, then?"

The man titled his head. "She wanted to tell me about something she'd found and maybe get some help. Naturally, I declined, but I did say I'd pass on anything I found.  
"But, what has you so interested, so suddenly? Did you want something from her?"

Startled, Kaneki brought his hands up and spoke quickly.

"Well, no, it's just that- I mean, I was just curious because everyone seemed on edge with her around. It was just getting to me."

The Manager exhaled. "Well then, best not to worry over it, Young Kaneki. She's out of your concern, now." He walked past the man and entered the backroom, leaving Kaneki alone in the store with Miss Irimi, who had just finished restocking the tables.

With naught left to do, the half-ghoul returned to his home and retired for the day. His apartment was as he'd left it, still and tidy, with only a few out of place books on his table. Throwing the book he'd received from the man today, Kaneki fell on his bed. Light was gently filtering in through the blinds, meaning it was too early to admit to sleep. Perhaps taking a look at his new book to pass the time would be a good idea?

Reaching over, he brought the book closer and observed it's cover. It was still bizarre and hard to decipher, but interesting, nonetheless. Maybe if he read a few lines, he'd understand what it all meant better.

_Author's Note: I wish I could go back and refine this, but I haven't the time. This will have to do._


	4. File 4: Oddity

Chapter 4: Oddity

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx xx. Xxxxxxxxxxx: Recall

Transit xxxxxxx XX Xxxx

Xxxxxxxxx: Xxxxxxxx xxxxxxx xxxx Xxxxxxxxxxx

Xxxxxxxxxxxxx: XXXX

Xxxxxxxxx Xxxxxxxxx: Blue

1300 hrs. Mxxxx 21, 20xx

...

Dodging the rain and staying dry in the rain was a difficult task, especially without a coat or umbrella. For a start, there weren't very many shelters in the streets of Tokyo, meaning you were always in the open, and second, it didn't matter if you did find shelter, because the wind would blow droplets under the roof of your little cubby hole and spatter your legs with water. Trying to stay dry was virtually impossible for the average citizen.

Nevertheless, Mag did his best, observing and planning routes, timing it just right to hitch a clandestine ride under an unknowing person's umbrella. Given he was taller than most folk here, he had to lean down and lower his head to the side so he wouldn't run into one of the spokes and poke his eye out. The extremely long case he'd brought with him was also a massive hinderance. He wished he'd planned better.

Mag had left his coat at his office in Itabashi city, only realizing it was absent when his train departed from the station, and the torrent had begun again for the day. He could have bought an umbrella from a shop at the station or anywhere else, but where was the point? Sure, he could stay dry indefinitely like the rest of these folk, but people wouldn't see him as the man he was. If he arrived at his destination slightly wet, but still largely dry despite the rain, it'd show his competence, ability and skill. Then he'd get all the ladies.

Obviously, that was a lie. It took more effort than that to attract the fairer sex. But he still liked to entertain the idea. The interactions Mag had desired with women hadn't been available to him since the last time he'd been on leave in the Corps, which was nearly 4 years ago, leaving him deprived of the excitement and challenge presented on the battlefield that was most deadly to explore. But he scoffed at that thought. There probably wasn't a anything worse than Kuwait. Dating would be cinch compared to that.

Slipping out from under the umbrella he'd been occupying, Mag hurried into a sheltered avenue topped with a roof, the rain thankfully absent. His feet clacked loudly on the pavement as he made his way down, echoing up and down the alley. It was empty, like the rest of the streets, but it was soothing. The distant roar of rain was only a mental footnote to Mag, as he slowly began to loosen his grip on the case. He zoned out and his mind began to wonder.

_Man, I wish every city was like this, _he thought, tilting his head back, _feds should just hurry up and commission that mega-city they have planned already. It'd be way ahead Tokyo when it comes to planning. _

An idea crossed his mind and his brow creased in thought. _Hmm. What if they make something like that on Mars? It'd be like a New Alexandria. Or that moon around Jupiter? Wait, what was it called again? Lathe? Laith? No, that can't be it. Was it Titan or…?_

He struggled to remember the name of the moon, throwing half-nonsensical names back and forth within his head. Amidst his faulty recollection, his destination came into view and he slowed his pace. He looked at the time on his phone. _13:23_, it read. He was in good time for the appointment. And thankfully, the rain was finally beginning to lighten up. He left the sheltered walkway and crossed the street. Only a light shower pattered him down, now.

He approached a compound, passing through an archway and into a pristine, almost sterile courtyard, white stones clacking underfoot. Before him, a complex of seven buildings lay, each one washed white and sloped at the roof. Scaffolding and missing pieces were present on some of them. In front, a monument sat in the shape of a stereotypical rocket ship in mind flight. It screamed of a 50's aesthetic and seemed rather comical. The cylindrical, yet pointed shape sought to pierce the heavens, in a manner that was akin to an old Astro Boy cartoon. Mag watched it closely as he walked by it and into the main building.

The reception that greeted him was a comfortable one. Plenty of cushions and furniture dotted the wide room, with tables piled with mounds of magazines for reading leisure. Half of the entire room could be given for lent and it would still be at maximum comfy. The information desk sat opposite the entrance, which Mag approached. A bored, almost dead, looking receptionist sat behind it. He heard Mag approach and spoke without looking at him.

"Name," he drawled, flicking through a colourful magazine. Mag dropped his case on the desk and jumped the man awake.

"I'm the courier, for Doctor, uh… That guy." He scraped the case off the surface, tearing into the man's ears. "I'm here to recollect the thing. Is it ready?"

The man looked at him, wide eyed and confused. He shook his head and regained his senses. He reached into a drawer.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, pulling out a lanyard with a yellow ribbon. He dropped it on the wide counter and pushed it over. Mag threw it over his head. "Chief told me to expect someone like you. Wasn't expecting anyone so tall, though." He pointed out with his left arm, down a corridor. "Anyway, you'll want to go down to the Ballistics and Alloy-Laminates Labs. Go down there until you reach a T-junction where there's a red thingy. When you get there, go left and then take the next outside. Cross the yard into the Balls. These buildings are constructed with visitors in mind, so there'll be a waiting room, which is where you'll check in officially."

Mag looked down the route indicated and stroked his chin. He made an audible humming noise. "Hmm, this is too easy. Are you sure that's where I'm supposed to go?"

The man nodded. "I'm sure."

He shrugged. "Okay then. See you around Bill." He left the desk and waved his hand. Behind him, he heard a chuckle and the man saying, "Yeah, and thanks for visiting Spiritwolf Aerospace, dick." He glanced back and saw him tipping his hat with a twisted grin. Mag ignored him and followed the instructions, finding himself at the exit sooner than he'd anticipated. Either this complex was smaller than it looked, or the architects were very efficient with filling space. Both were entirely possible, so he couldn't decide which one was more likely.*

He crossed the open space, bearing the brunt of the few raindrops wishing to emerge today. He caught a glimpse of some eggheads messing around with winglets, testing flight ability or something in bad weather. Mag ignored them and hopped into the building.

He passed through the entrance hall and skipped over into the waiting room. It was similar to the first one he'd been in, but it appeared more like it was designed to welcome guests than provide an area where they can be directed to a specific building and be welcomed proper. Cushioned chairs, detailed tables and a few paintings along the walls. Mag wondered what the purpose behind this was, and why the complex couldn't be better laid out. Maybe this was being reused from an older building built previously?

It wasn't a big room, but it wasn't small either, with enough room for at least ten people to sit together. Opposite the entrance was the reception desk with two paths branching off to the sides. And, alerted to the noise of a visitor, was the receptionist, struggling to peer over the high surface of the desk. Mag stalked over to her and allowed her to sit down. She also gave him a more polite greeting than her colleague.

"Hi, welcome to Spiritwolf Aerospace. How can I help you?" she said, in refined, but spotty, Japanese and speaking in a high yet soft and mature voice. She pulled a small smile, but even so, it was enough to warm Mag's heart against the chilly weather. Not that he felt the cold much, anymore, but still.

"I'm the courier, from Mercy. I'm here to pick up the object that the team here has been working on." He leaned on the surface, crossing his arms. The receptionist gasped and adopted a look of surprise. She bowed her head. Her keyboard clacked loudly as she keyed commands into it.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know it'd be someone like you. I was expecting a lab coat and glasses, but I guess assuming made an idiot out of me." She continued to smile and shrugged. Pressing keys on her keyboard, she typed commands in and clacked away, eyes focused on the monitor while she did. While she worked away, Mag tried diverting his attention, but kept finding himself returning back to the platinum haired girl.

He peered over the edge and looked at the girl's hands. They blurred across the keyboard in quick flashes, before stopping and letting him get a good look at them. They were small with slender fingers, each one ending in a fine point. He traced his eyes up her arms and saw how small and thin they were, judging by how her blazer hugged tightly to them. This made him curious to just how tall she was when standing. When he'd entered, she'd struggled to see over the top of the counter. That clearly meant she had to be tiny, but that could also be a ruse. by how her eyes had struggled to rise over the edge when he entered, she'd probably be at least 140 cm tall. Was it even possible for people to get that short? Wouldn't she be missing organs, or would they just be incredibly squashed together?

A click of the mouse later, the receptionist's eyes lit up and her frown morphed into a smile, warming Mag's heart again. "Ah, here we go. You're expected at 1:30, aaand the director will see you when he's ready. That should be about five minutes, but please, take a seat," she said nervously. She indicated to a chair with her hand. Mag cocked his head at her and eyed her blankly. A spot of perspiration appeared on her temple and ran down slowly.

"Okay," he quipped. He turned on his heel, squeaking on the floor and headed for the chair opposite the receptionist. He sat down, setting the case on the floor and crossing his legs, clasping his hands tight. Mag settled in and focused, relaxing his muscles. There was little to do, little to worry about. It's not like he was in any danger here.

Time passed and Mag watched it go by, dozing in and out of focus as he listened to the muted mumble of a news report from a nearby radio. Every minute he brought his phone out, clicking it on to spy the time. _Four minutes, three minutes, two, one…_

Mag smiled to himself and eyed the entrances for the director. But when five minutes turned into six minutes, then seven minutes and then eight, he grew impatient and shifted in his seat. He told himself that the man, or woman, would be coming and they'd be here soon, but the more he watched the numbers count higher, the more antsy he got, until…

"Hey, reception-girl, it's been five minutes, so where's the doc?" he called, gliding to the desk, resting the case on the side and dropping an elbow on it. She yelped, jumping in her skin as Mag caught her in some kind of act. She'd been chewing on her thumbnail while she grimaced at the monitor. Clearly, something must be going on and the girl hurried to recompose herself.

"Don't worry, I just received an email from him now, he's on his way," she reassured, Mag noticing her throat contract. He continued to watch her through his glasses, forcing an unbreaking stare on her. The girl's efforts to avert her eyes was amusing to Mag. "A-apparently, one of the labs ran into an issue and he had to take care of it, but he's free now, so you won't have to wait any longer."

"About time." He let both his arms rest on the counter now. "Y'know, I wouldn't have minded as much if I didn't have a doctor's appointment after this, but it would have been cool for you to tell me he's be late."

"I know, I know, I'm sorry, but I messaged him twice and he only responded just now." She sighed. "We've been very busy setting up and scheduling reconstruction and refurbishment here, so everyone's always on short notice." She bit her lip, her eyes lighting up before adding, "And this an old aquarium, so it's difficult to redo."

"I know, but you set up shop in Tokyo six months ago, that's no excuse."

Another grimace flashed on her face, followed by a tight-lipped frown. In the few microseconds it was present on her face, she brushed it off and pulled another smile. "Well, no, our 7th Ward branch was established then, this building was only moved into two months ago."

"Huh, really?" He stroked his chin and lowered his head. "So, when did **you** move here? You ain't Japanese," he queried, raising an eyebrow.

That caught her by surprise. "Oh, um, last month. They're apparently working on something top secret here, so they only wanted staff they could trust. Executive orders." She focused on Mag and narrowed her eyes. She smiled smugly "Say, you're not Japanese either, are you? When did you arrive?"

"Yesterday."

"Oh my. You must be tired."

"Nah, I'm used to it," he yawned. "Back in the Marines, when they shipped us off to Godknowswhereistan, we'd pull 50-hour plus shifts when we moved from Pizza Hut to 7/11 because our CO had a thumb up his ass when we met resistance. Then when I quit and joined Mercy, they do exactly the same as the Marines did, except now, I'm being sent to shithole first world countries instead. But, it's good money, so I could drop dead, for all I care," he said impassively.

The girl giggled and went to stifle it with a hand. "Well, that's very free-spirited. I don't think I'd want to die anytime soon even if my pay was **that** good." She opened her mouth but closed it again and bit her lip. It went quiet again, and to break the silence, the receptionist hurriedly added, "Mercy is a great company, isn't it? They've done so much for medicine and surgery that we would probably still be using metal peg legs for amputees."

"We probably would," Mag replied succinctly. The girl nodded, agreeing energetically. Something was off here, making Mag cock his head. That was it. "Why are we speaking Japanese, anyway? We can speak English, right?"

The girl frowned and looked around. "I don't think it's a company policy to just speak Japanese. I was only doing it because you started with it."

"No, no, that's not true. You're the one who started it," rebutted Mag. The girl was about to continue when footsteps emerged from the hall to their right, dashing down with utmost speed and a voice in the King's English saying, "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to be so late, but one of the labs had an accident. One of the fellows was messing around with a robotic suction device and got his old grouse stuck in there. I say, it was very confounding with all the clucking."

Mag turned to the voice. Standing there was a young man, spry and energetic, with brown hair and brown eyes. Large ears topped off his features, poking out like massive radiator dishes on a capital ship. He was alive with enthusiasm and spoke with the etiquette of the middle-class. But his face was caked in soot and grime and his white lab coat was dotted with large splotches of oil and patches of feathers, yet despite this, he still looked ready to enter a board meeting. He looked Mag up and down and hopped over to him, thrusting out a hand at him.

"Terribly sorry about keeping you for so long. I swear, I didn't do it on purpose." Mag grabbed his palm and they shook hands as the man continued. "I'm director Lowne, the head of shuttle construction surplus and reduction. You must be Mag, yes? It's a Pleasure to meet you."

"Charmed, little man. But, can you put that in English, please?" A flash of realization made its way on the director's face and he rolled his eyes.

"Right, sorry. To cut it simply, it's my job to overdesign and then strip down all the unneeded material on a spacecraft based on estimated need. Honestly, I can't see why we don't just send the first model up first and then call it a day. The pilots we have can get to the moon and back on fumes with how they fly," he rambled, throwing his hands up into the air as Mag tuned him out. His demeanour softened and he turned back to Mag, catching his attention. "Anyhow, come with me. Oh, and thank you for keeping him occupied, Tessa. Brilliantly done!"

Lowne threw a thumbs up at the receptionist and motioned for Mag to follow right after. He moved quickly back into the hallway he came, Mag following with a steady stride. He looked at the girl as he passed, nodding curtly at her. She returned with a smile and a wave and Mag soon found himself enveloped in shadow in a barren and stripped-down hall. That girl hadn't been kidding about the refurbishing work going on.

Mag caught up to the director, catching his attention. "So, what is you guys do here? Testing pump rockets and seeing how high they go."

"No, nothing like that," he smirked, glancing side on. "Right now, we're still trying to get our computers working again and setting up bucket loads of stuff for our labs and engineers. And we've been set to work with what we have working already, so we're very overdrawn, all the time. Even me."

Mag stifled a laugh. "Come on, it can't be that hard. It's not like you have to carry a 200-pound man and the extra 100 pounds he's carrying, do you?"

"Hmph, not really, but since most of our equipment isn't ready yet, all our work is more physically demanding than it usually is, so as a matter of fact, we may have to do that at some point." They walked past a window looking into chamber scattered with machines and mechanical parts scattered all over the floor or pressed against the walls. Workmen covered in grime and oil, and what seemed to be feathers, were at work assembling the devices. Some were orbited by rings; others were square and tubed and all were far from what you'd see at NASA. Lowne spoke again, "You might have seen some of our boys out in the yar- I mean, court."

"I did. They were playing around with some wing looking things. But I suppose it isn't all bad if you nerds are getting exercise," he snarked, eliciting a chuckle out of them both. They rounded a corner into a more complete corridor, with working lights and installed doors. Lowne lead him up to a door with a keypad by it, away from the room they'd passed.

"Yes, I suppose. Although, it doesn't help when your allergies start acting up." He pulled his lanyard from his pocket, one with a red ribbon instead. He pressed it against the screen on the number pad and a buzzer rang up. "Anyhow, we followed the procedure and did as ordered, took a look at 'it' and fixed it to the best of our ability. Of course, it all depends on if you think we did a good enough job or not."

Mag looked at him, frowning. "Do I look like a CO, or something?" he asked. Lowne recoiled, fearful he hit a nerve.

"Oh, no, it's just that since you brought it in this morning, I thought you were the caretaker for it. You are, aren't you?" he asked apprehensively. Mag pondered a moment before nodding, unsure of the fact himself. A sigh of relief crossed the director's face as he sighed.

The door clicked open and they passed through it, entering a dark hallway illuminated by green guide lights set into skirting boards. After a couple seconds of walking, the overhead lights snapped on and began a droning buzz. Lowne lead the way, directing Mag to a flight of stairs.

"It's not often we get many visitors at the moment, so forgive me for conflating you with that chap. It's bad enough we can't accommodate them, most of the time. A few weeks ago, some of the old local council members popped round to inspect the machinery in the East wing, but we had to turn them back because it wasn't nearly safe for them."

"'Safe'? You mean 'ready,' don't you?"

"Yes, that too." He snapped his fingers. "These are fine buildings, with plenty of space to work with, we just need to get them in shape, is all." He waved a hand. "Also, given that our only visitors have only spoken Japanese, it's a relief that I can finally speak English again. Is it the same for you, too?"

Mag shrugged and grunted. Did he really care what he had to speak? "Probably," he agreed. It would be nice to be on the Director's good side. "I don't care, though. They have subtitles here and most them speak English anyway, so it's not like a tour in Iraqistan again," he said. The two ascended the stairs, Mag taking two at a time with long strides. He felt the director's eyes on him and looked back. The poor man had fallen behind and was still on the third step.

"Do you want me to slow down, Mr Lowne?" he asked. The man shook his head and quickened his stride. He began taking three at a time, instead.

"Nope, no need. You only need to do that when I'm going _down_ the stairs," joked Lowne, catching up to Mag in two strides. Whatever he was laughing about, Mag hadn't the faintest idea and was thankful when the topic was changed. "But no, that wasn't it. I just got lost in thought when you mentioned a tour in Iran or somewhere. Are you a soldier, by any chance?"

"Marine."

"Ah, I knew it was something like that. If it wasn't obvious from how you're built, then it's clear by how you speak." They reached the second floor and proceeded through a corridor of offices. Men and some women were at work in the half-decrepit rooms, typing away at computers or talking with others regarding blueprints of thruster jets. "A friend of mine works in the Royal Commandos, back in the UK. He's a Colour Sergeant and handles the supplies in his company. He always complains about how batteries and other little bits keep going missing. But that's enough about him, what about you? What did you do?"

Wondering where to start, Mag looked to the man, raising his eyebrows. He huffed. "What is there to tell? I'm a Marine and have been since Iraq. I saw Afghanistan, then Iran, Canada and then I helped out in Idaho, Tibet and China. Realistically, I was just a grunt that had too many runs of bad luck, with hardly anything to stand out from the crowd, except for my pretty face of course." He waved a hand in front of his eyes, smiling. "At the end, I was a Gunnery Sergeant in 1st Recon. My last deployment was in the shit show in New York. Had to fix all kinds of things we weren't qualified for and ended up getting more than we bargained."

"Ooh, I heard of what happened there. They said it was breakout of CWD, wasn't it?" He winked knowingly at Mag, pulling a cheeky smile. He replied with a shrug.

They reached the end of the hall and stopped by a heavy, reinforced door. Mag faced the director and shrugged. "Well, that's what they want you and everyone else to think, but whatever you say, doc." He looked at the door. "Is this it?"

"Oh yes, just behind here, now. Let me put in the code…" Clicks came from the keypad as he fingered it, before a quick _bee-bleep! _sounded from the device. The door opened with a _shwump _and plumes of nitrogen vapor spilled from the cracks, flowing over the tiled floor.

"Cold storage," stated the director, noticing Mag's gaze and feeling the need to explain the vapor. "It's nothing special. Just regular storage but at very low temperatures. Most of us just use it to store our lunch or eat here when it's too hot outside. Although, it also doubles as a safe room-slash-armoury, since any weapon that comes in here fails to work." The door fully opened, and he strolled inside.

"Uh-huh. And why does that happen?" Mag asked, following him inside, spying porcelain white boxes with curved edges placed all around, some covered with tarpaulin. A chill met him as he walked in, but a shiver was far from taking its hold on him.

"Oh well, it's very simple. Given the construction of the room and the materials used, the small amounts of liquid nitrogen used to keep it cool somehow multiply in effect on microscopic scales without affecting larger groups of cells. Effectively, it freezes gunpowder, blunts blades, extinguish fuses, disables high-frequency fields and it even depletes RC cells, although I'm not an expert so don't take my word for it."

Mag snapped to him, feeling the chill grow. "Are you serious?"

"Hmm? About what?" Lowne asked obliviously, stopping by a crate with a tarp draped over it.

"Th- The Rc cell thing. Is that really true?"

The director frowned and held his hands behind his back. "Yes, of course. Although, it's very expensive to construct rooms like this and only our Headquarters have the only other one, so it's no wonder it hasn't caught on yet. And it's a trade secret, so that's another reason. But enough of that. This is what you're here for."

He grabbed a fistful of tarp and yanked it off, revealing a white marble-like surface. Before it had even settled, he'd already unclasped the clamps on the sides of the crate, pulling the lid off with several tugs. Turning to Mag, he thrust the plate into his chest.

"Here you go."

Back to the crate, he pressed a button on the side and the sound of machinery whirred and hummed. Emerging from the depths was a long, straight sword, sheathed in a black scabbard. The entire thing was surrounded by a frame and mounted on a stand. If placed on the floor, it would reach up to about Mag's armpit. Intrigued by the sight, he dropped the lid and ran a hand along the surface.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Lowne started. "Constructed from the best alloys available, imbued with the finest alternating frequency technology known to man and then sharpened to the tiniest micrometre tip, it sure is a beauty to behold. Cost a mighty sum, too."

"It certainly would," Mag agreed. Grabbing the weapon, he lifted it off the stand, bringing the frame with it and rubbing the handle. "These things aren't exactly cheap."

"Indeed. Swords like this are rare, much more so than anything else. Men would kill each other for something like this and then kill anyone that tried to get close to them with it. After all, when cutting or thrusting, you have near zero interference and you may as well be slicing through butter. You can cut for more than 50 metres along a block of steel before you reach some interference and, thanks to the Energy Absorption Bolts situated in the most optimal spots for the best harmonic balance possible, you have little wobble and osci-"

"Doc, please, I don't care how it works, just as long as it works. Leave the explaining to the people who actually give a shit," Mag interrupted. He pulled at the handle, pulling with all his strength, but the blade wouldn't budge. He went to pull again, but Lowne stopped him, grabbing his wrist with a quick hand. Probably for the best, too.

"The sword is locked in there and won't come out for another few hours, for security reasons. If you try to pull any harder, you might break it."

Mag found himself agreeing with the man again and brought his case up. "You're probably right."

Unclasping the latches and opening the case, Mag carefully put the frame inside. It wasn't a difficult manoeuvre, but a tremor in his left arm certainly made it harder. He ignored it and placed the frame down. The case clapped shut as it detected the weight of the blade, almost lopping off Mag's fingers had he been a few seconds too slow. He lowered the case and felt the weight from it. Nothing he couldn't handle. It wouldn't be that conspicuous. He could always just call it a hockey stick, again.

"If you're going to be testing it's cutting ability, you're going to need something stronger than simple rolls," Lowne remarked.

"Yeah, tatami mats won't cut it this time. Something like steel beams might do, but I'll have to be careful not to melt them," he murmured. He turned to the director. "Well, this is it, doc. Thanks for taking a look at this, even though you're busy." He extended a hand, which the director shook vigorously.

"No, no, no, don't worry about it. Anything to do something different for once, so don't worry, honestly." He released his grip and patted down his coat. "Anyway, I'm sure you'll have more dealings with our other offices, so I doubt this is the end."

"True."

He smirked. "So, what will you do with that? Just cut with it?"

Mag tilted his head. "I don't know, yet. It's only ever been used once, and I have a Doctor's appointment to get to." He paused. "Wait a minute."

He pulled out his phone and checked the time. _12:52. _He was late. If he didn't set off soon, he was going to miss his appointment and he didn't want to think what the Doctor would do to him. Not that he would do anything to him, but he was threatening enough to act like it.

"I have to go. It's been good meeting you, Lowne."

"Likewise, Mag. Here, let me walk you out."

Mag held up his hands and winced. "Please, man, don't chauffer me like you owe me something. Just follow me to the entrance and then you can say whatever."

They exited the cold storage and the Director followed Mag out to the building entrance. Before he left, the man turned to him once more and said, "So, what are you doing after this? Going for lunch?"

"No, just an appointment," Mag said.

"And after that?"

Mag opened his mouth, but shut it, failing to find the words. He sighed and deflated. "Shit, I don't know. I'm too used to my Lt or the SMJ telling me what to do, whether I need to get off the grass or shouting down the comm to cease a fire mission because the platoon is danger close, or grilling POGs for getting the pizza delivery wrong." He scratched his head. "Honestly, it's weird and sometimes I just wake up expecting to be barked at for leaving my shit bag in the last town over. Really, I-"

Suddenly, something in his head clicked, and Mag looked at him. He grinned.

"I'll go for a walk, I think."


	5. File 5: Bastion

File 5: Bastion

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...

In the time it took for Mag to arrive back in the 19th Ward, the day had waned considerably. The sky had melted into a warm hue of cooling magma, drawing a border against the blue of the sky. As well as the sky, the scenery had changed too, from a maze of commercial and educational buildings to a packed area of homely and quaint constructs. Commercial and education institutions remained, but they were fewer in frequency compared to the density of the 20th Ward. The only similarity between the two cities were the large concrete spire set at the centre of all roads, with the only difference being the 19th's spire was crumbling.

The Commission for Counter-Ghoul performed many operations across the city and maintained a huge budget, dividing it up among its assets and divisions neatly. Hunting down, investigating and preventing against ghouls took a considerable effort and the equipment and technology to combat them was no cheaper. Thankfully, Investigators were effectively and Quinques could be produced without much strain on the budget. The same could not be said for Q-Bullets, however, as producing them on mass cost a pretty penny. But operating a functioning headquarters in any of the wards for long periods cost dearly to the CCG's coffers* and it wasn't uncommon for decaying, decades old sites to be left abandoned or even sold to eccentric buyers.

Mag approached the crumbling spire, walking through the broken garden, among the wilted and withered remains of once beautiful plants. Weeds dominated the scape now, choking flowers and flourishing through the cracks in paving slabs. The old CCG centre was in no better condition. Despite it's tall, imposing construction, it stood cracked and weathered and the pillar-like shape it maintained resembled more of a gravestone than a watchtower; a worn and battered buttress than a centre of order. The nearby apartment blocks weren't nearly as ruined and made the centre stick out like a sore thumb.

As Mag drew closer, he observed the state of the outer shell, a plain and utilitarian armour of concrete, spying holes shot through the wall. Each one was large enough for a man to climb through and set at varying heights, while long gouges and projectile marks pockmarked the surface. He concluded that some skirmish or battle with one of the resident gangs must have taken place here and had forced the residents to vacate the building with the treasures stored there. Of course, there was no way to be sure. The only available files on it had been blacked out with ink. The only things that hadn't been redacted was its design, which split it into two areas; the tower and the tomb. Mag dashed up the stairs to the former.

Entering the lobby, Mag drew in a breath of air and relieved himself from the rush over here. He observed the room, noticing it's sparseness, save for the tarpaulin and scaffolding set up around the lobby. The ceiling, which stretched up high above the man, provided more than enough room for a giant to walk at full height. It gave a grandiose impression to whoever walked in, creating a feeling of insignificance. Mag approached the centre desk and introduced himself to the narrow-eyed receptionist, who greeted him with a yawn. His friend, on the other hand, ignored him for he was fast asleep.

"Welcome, uh, Mr Thomas," he said sluggishly. "The Doctor is waiting for you," he said sluggishly, creating a rise of irritation in Mag. "Jush wait here, while the security chief comes to escort you."

He obeyed and waited as told. But, as opposed to his visit to Spiritwolf, the security chief of Mercy's Tokyo branch arrived faster than the Director had. He'd met him before, once or twice, and knew a few details about him. He was a man of few words, Swedish, with big ears and thinning hair. Mag passed on his case to him, as per safety and security procedures, and followed the man deeper into the building. They passed offices and workrooms filled with mountains of cardboard boxes, whiteboards and inactive servers, exchanging no words as they went. They reached some stairs and began up them, climbing to the fifth floor. Power hadn't been restored to every function of the building yet and so the lifts were unavailable, slowing the branch's progress at working. Even so, they weren't being forced to work immediately like Spiritwolf, only the primary Project staff was being set to work at once. Mag wasn't sure whether that counted him as lucky or unlucky.

On the second floor, the destination was beyond a T-junction. The chief brought him down the left track and opened a door, motioning for Mag to entering and saying, "Ladies first." Complying, he entered a spacious, nearly empty room, with shuttered windows on the wall opposite the door. In one of the corners, a computer sitting on a skeleton of a desk was shoved into it, a tangled net of wires and cables leading out from it and into a device in the centre of the room. A bed, of sorts, or rather a cradle, with odd arachnid limbs curling up and hovering over the top. Footsteps departed from the entrance and Mag was left all alone, without his case or a friend.

He strolled over to the windows and opened the shutters, letting evening light spill into the room and illuminate finer details. The cradle was bizarre, with a moulding of a human form carved into the surface, with numerous sockets and scientific light bulbs along the rounded mould, and distinct apertures for plugs to emerge from. Last Mag remembered, he didn't have any kind of plugs or sockets installed on him during his tenure at Mercy. Or maybe he did, and they'd snuck it all into the water? Or maybe it had been part of the contract all along?

Also, lasers and ultraviolet cameras were situated on the spider arms, pointed up at the moment, but capable of being pointed down at the subject on the bed, as shown by motors on the arms. What they were for, Mag had no idea and neither did he care. He was a grunt, muscle and someone who's told to do things. Things like supplies or long-term goals were beyond him, it was better to leave it to the officers and let him do the shooting since he'd never get that wrong.

As he was looking at the bed, his arm went numb, cold and heavy and felt almost…dead. He brought it up and looked at it. It was trembling again, like a dog with Parkinson's left out in the Siberian wilderness. Grabbing it, he arrested the arm and feeling slowly returned to the limb. This problem had been occurring more and more recently and had proven troublesome when it came to holding cups of tea. Hopefully the Doctor could sort it out soon.

Pushing the issue out of mind, Mag removed his glasses, placing them in his jacket, then he removed that too, hanging it on one of the arms and lay in the cradle, fitting almost perfectly in the mould. The feet were a little too short for him, so his knees were bent, but it wasn't an issue.

With little left to do and only one thing to do, Mag lay in the cradle and waited, waiting for his Doctor to arrive.

…

A knock came from the door, a rhythmic rap that barely lingered in the small, messy office. Stacks of documents, binders and clipboards filled the shelves around the edges while bizarre Middle Eastern decorations hung on the walls. A thin man with black, greying and curly hair sat at the desk in the centre of the room, squinting at sheets of readings and other kinds of squiggly lines. Holding his gold rimmed spectacles in place, he looked up, a fixture of concern on his face, and said, "Enter," in a deep and flowing voice. The security chief entered the room, holding up the case in his hand.

"Hey, Doc, your pet's here and he's waiting in the cradle studio. Should I leave this with you?"

Sighing, the man referred to as 'Doc' rose to his feet, slipping his glasses off his long, hooked nose. "Mr Jorund, I thought I told you to never refer to my subjects and/or patients as '_pets' _ever again, while I still live," he said softly, with a firm layer of assertion. He strolled up to the man, looking him dead in the eye. "Do you remember when I told you that?"

The chief retreated slightly as the Doctor approached, his eyes widening and his lips tightening. A flash of realization crossed his features and he nodded his head.

"Yeah, Doc, I remember. It was in that reply to my Email, about the Gamma Subject," he said dejectedly. He avoided the Doctor's gaze, careful not to get burned.

"Yes, that's correct. The one I sent you three weeks ago. So why didn't you obey it?" He drew closer, close enough to breathe on his cheek and put a hand on the chief's shoulder. He squeezed it gently.

"Because I… Because I forgot, sir," he choked, sweat clearly visible on his forehead. The Doctor smiled thinly and whispered into his ear. He knew that the chief knew he knew, and despite that mouthful, it would wrap him more around his finger than he wished.

"Then you had best keep in mind, Mr Jorund, that I won't hesitate to terminate you, or your contract, over the slightest transgression you make. Project M.A.G.P.I.E. is too important to fail, with too many eyes on us, and personnel like you are easily expendable. Nothing will change with you gone. Do you understand?" The Doctor watched as the man bobbed his head up and down in agreement, still silent and unflinching amidst the fear. That was possibly the strongest aspect of the man's character, to speak only when necessary. It would be a shame if the Doctor had to remove him at all.

The chief slipped him the case, quickly turning on his heel and departing back the way he came to his office. Listening until his footsteps faded into the background hum of the ceiling lights, the Doctor returned to his desk and set the case down on it, flicking the latches and opening the long beast. The Doc marvelled at the sight, running a finger along the firm, hard and straight shaft of the scabbard and admired the reflection at work. Millions of dollars, thousands of hours and tens of squabbles between outsourced companies all finally culminating in one of the finest works of science and engineering known to man. If the Doctor had been a more sensitive man, he would have shed a tear at the sight, but instead, he put a hand to his heart. Still, it was unfortunate of the colour of the device, and its frame. It would blend horribly with his beige and blue armless sweater and maroon button shirt. Perhaps with another outfit it would spell.

But the item, the blade itself; Finally, a functioning high-frequency blade existed, a way to create mighty weapons without first needing Ghouls (or volatile rods, for that matter). If testing went well and the Director of the M.A.G.P.I.E. initiative approved of the results, then finally, mankind would be capable to flourish and reach its true potential. Well, that was the official endgame, but most of the project staff were in it for the money. But enough of that. The Doctor was beginning to drool.

Slapping the case back together, the Doctor shoved it under his arm and stuffed as many papers on his desk into a clipboard, holding it under his chin. He then turned to the door and dashed out of the room.

The Doctor was in the hall with doors to shared offices on either side. He ran down the straight passage, slowing so to not crash into the door. He reached the end of the hall in seconds, but to him it felt like a marathon. Waiting for a moment, he caught his breath until he pushed on the handle and entered.

Beyond was a room of wasted space, with a single row of windows letting in meagre evening light, a computer with bundles of wires snaking out from the bottom and up the adjacent wall and the Interface Cradle in the centre of the oblong room, sitting like a spider that died on its back. A fair skinned, sleepy face emerged from the flat surface, curious as to who just entered. The Doctor smiled and walked right in.

"Good Evening, Magpie," he chirped warmly, heading straight for the computer, "how are you today?"

Mag blew a frustrated sigh and laid his head back down, saying, "Doc, I told you to not call me that, okay? I know it's my official codename, but seriously, I don't want to be reminded of my time trying not get boned by horny seamen that were set on me by dickless fly boys." He lifted his head back up as the Doctor reached the computer, raising an eyebrow. "You get what I'm saying?"

The Doc chuckled and shook his head. "Well I'm sorry, Mag, but you'll just have to bear with it. I'll try my best not to raise any unwanted memories." He placed the case down and threw the clipboard on the desk, jumping into the chair. He slipped a hand through the trench of USB's that lead to the power button on the tower and pressed it, beginning a boot- up sequence that was just too fun to skip. "But beside that point, how is your body Mag? You haven't had a check-up since the last I saw you."

"Yeah, which was six fucking weeks ago," he grumbled, throwing his arm up. It hung there for a second before it fell back onto the cradle. He cleared his throat and continued. "Yeah, I've been fine, except for some weird tremors that have been happening in my left arm. You know anything about that, Doc?"

The Doctor input his administrative password and began the log-in sequence (which was also just too fun to skip) before peering round at Mag. He scooted closer to him.

"Hmm, I wouldn't know right off the bat, you'll have to tell me what you've been doing," he said enigmatically. He stopped at the cradle and leaned on it. "Have you been masturbating?"

Mag looked at him with a telling expression and frowned, his slanted eyes almost closing because of the look. "Doc, we both know the answer to that, and the reason for it. Just get on with it."

"Yes, very well, it does make me queasy whenever I think about what goes on down there, after all." He scooted back to the PC. He clicked twice and brought up a program which loaded quickly. "This is just a wild, uneducated guess, but it could be your musculature acting up due to an imbalance of regulatory hormones or some other function that may be clashing with your firmware." He paused for a moment and flicked through some papers on his clipboard. He stopped at one and jabbed a finger at the graph. His eyes lit up with an evil gleam. "Of course, **that** is only assuming you haven't been sneaking off again and causing trouble, like you did for your previous caretaker. There's no way you would have done that, again, would you?" He turned to Mag and stared unblinking at him. The man lay in the cradle anxiously, eyes darting from side to side. The Doctor hovered a hand sneakily over the enter key.

"Well, I, uh- You see, Doc, that wasn't actually me, I-" he began, but he was cut off by a stream of pain. He cried out, briefly, and went silent, the only sound being his panting. The cradle's lights had lit up now and the lasers on the arms were activated, a soft hum reverberating around the room. Mag's muscles were now robbed of their conductivity and incapable of moving, rendering him still except for a few key components. The Doctor smiled and took his hand off the keyboard, wheeling over to the now immobile Mag. He looked up at him with a pained expression as he removed a jacket from one of the arms.

"Mag, I want you to understand that this is a project of grave significance we are conducting here and any infraction you make against the rules we have in place is simply not to keep you in line: it is to ensure the overall safety and success of our efforts and that we are not disposed of like mangy mongrels." He adjusted one of the lasers, angling it down towards Mag. He then pushed a button on the side and the others followed suit, aiming at parts of his body. "Now, I believe you know what was on the news earlier today, so I won't be too harsh, but I expect you to explain yourself."

He turned to Mag, giving him a deathly glare, but the man blinked at him blankly. He scanned his surroundings, avoiding his gaze and wracking his memories for what the Doctor was talking about. It was after a minute of patient waiting that something must have clicked in his crayon filled brain and Mag let out a gasp of acknowledgement.

"Shit, you mean I made the news?" he asked excitedly, trying to raise up out of the cradle despite the lack of function in his muscles. "Oh ma- Look, Doc, you gotta believe me, that wasn't intentional. I was just doing a pre-mission scout when I got jumped by a creep. Turns out, he's a Ghoul and I had to kill him, but then his friends showed up and…"

"Alright, I understand Mag, just stop." A hint of frustration was rising in the Doctor's chest, and he wasn't entirely sure he believed the story. "But first, did you file a request for authorisation with anyone?"

Mag smiled at the Doctor, barring his teeth in an uncertain grin. The Doctor was less than amused, however. He knew what this meant and sighed heavily as he rolled his way back to the desk.

"Well, I suppose I can file all that under an unauthorized use of self-defence, but I'll also have to file an unauthorized expedition into the city, seeing how you had illegal access to the sword. XO won't be pleased about this."

"Hey, Doc," Mag called meekly, "who's this '_XO_' guy? You keep mentioning him, but I've never heard of him before?"

The Doctor barely turned to the cradle as he spoke, focussing on the monitor in front of him.

"He's your boss, Magpie, and my boss too. He's the Executive Officer of the entire initiative, which includes all four projects that have been, commissioned." He tugged on his tie, which had gotten surprisingly tight in the space he had been talking and continued. "I'd suggest you don't do anything that would be considered as displeasing to him, Mag, as there are plenty of rumours that he disposes of those who blunder even once. That means we maintain as low of a public profile as possible, gather the data we require and complete as many objectives assigned to us as possible.  
"When I say, 'Behave,' that is not just for your sake, but for mine, Mr Jorund, your support team and everyone else working here. You should remember that before you hike around the town."

Silence settled in the room after that, but the Doctor felt he had made his point. Sure, projects have been shut down before, such as Beta project, after the primary goal of that project had failed to meet expectations, but there had been no confirmation that the staff and operators had been terminated in any fashion. Any contact between the remaining initiative members and the expelled ones had been lost, but then again, contact between remaining staff and anyone outside the projects was heavily restricted. The Doctor knew that termination wouldn't likely be a fate he would suffer, but the rumours that hung about still perpetuated within his thoughts.

Then, just as the Doctor turned back to the computer, Mag spoke up and broke his distraction. "So why wasn't any of it in the briefing?" he asked. "That would've been real good to know beforehand."

"Because he believes soldiers like you are too stupid to understand anything, so it's up to project directors, such as I, to tell you in our own time. Anyway, it's time for the tests. Make sure your breathing is nominal and your heart is steady." He clicked the mouse and a window composed of various monitors appeared on screen: heart rate, blood pressure, cell count, body temperature, brain activity, electrical output and sensory status were all there, increasing and decreasing by miniscule amounts. The Doctor clicked through various other readings, scanning each one quickly to glean the necessary information before moving onto the next.

As time went on, the light from the windows shifted from a warm glow to a faded veil and it grew ever more faded as tests were completed. A light patter of rain had also begun, slapping against the window in an arrhythmic pattern. The Doctor moved between Mag and the computer, wheeling to and thro, unlocking the man's muscles to allow him to clench his hand, bend his knee or snap his heel. It was tedious business, with seemingly little produce, and very repetitive, but it was necessary data. The Doctor was fiddling with the mechanism of Mag's heels when the man spoke up.

"Hey Doc, what **are **we doing here, anyway? I signed up to the Marines to kill people, and that's all they wanted, but with Mercy, I still don't know what you guys want," he said curiously. There was a slight hint of hesitation in his voice, like he was cautious to probe into that territory.

"Data. We're gathering data," he put bluntly, still focussed on the foot. "For future projects. That's what we're here for and all you need to know."

Mag laughed dryly and looked to the Doctor. "Is that what Hal was doing in New York, too? 'Gathering data' when he did all that? And what kind of 'future projects' are we talking about? A special enzyme that allows Ghouls to eat normal food or some shit?"

"Magpie, I do not know, nor do I care, because what the council members know in the ICHP is far above my pay grade," he sighed, putting the leg down. He moved back to the computer and entered a command into the keyboard, closing multiple windows. The cradle shut down, it's lights blinking out and the lasers pointing at Mag whined into silence. In the cradle, Mag blinked once, then twice, and lifted up an arm, smiling wide as he sat up and swung his legs over the side. The Doctor watched him approach and handed him the case.

"So, is it time?" Mag asked, taking the case.

The Doctor nodded and said, "Yes, it's time for your first official excursion. Head over to the cage and speak to the engineer, I'll meet you there shortly. You'll need to get armoured up before you can go out and test your new capabilities. And please, don't forget your coat this time."

The Doctor handed Mag a slip of paper, one with the portraits of several men set above lines of text. Mag took one look at the paper, scanning the images before glancing up at the Doctor and smiling thinly.

* * *

_*Of course, the cost also depends on the ward the building resided in. A 20__th__ Ward office would cost less to maintain than an office in a high activity ward._

Be me


End file.
